


a serious kind (of something new)

by finkpishnets



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Concerts, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: The first time he’d seen Paul really smile, his breath had caught in his chest, and all he’d been able to think was ‘oh’. Now, seeing Paul like this, it seems impossible to Will that people aren’t tripping over themselves to fall in love with him.He’sbeautiful, radiating life and light and pure, unadulterated physicality. Will doesn’t remember his time as a writer, but he wants to pen novels about the curve of Paul’s arms, the sway of his hips, the unchained fire in his eyes; it makes his skin feel too tight over his bones, makes him want to laugh and scream and hold on tight, and he thinks it was worth resurrection for this moment of sheerrealityalone.[Or: Will and Paul go to the Tokyo Fab gig.]





	a serious kind (of something new)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withingerly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withingerly/gifts).



> for @withingerly who wanted 'will and paul at the tokyo fab concert, pre-relationship.'
> 
> i meant this to be a cute fluff piece and it turned into will being thirsty af and waxing poetic about paul for 1.4k words, so, uh, enjoy?
> 
> i have no idea what the crowd at a japanese heavy metal beatles cover band gig in chicago would look like, so i went with my best guess. also i had gig envy writing this so it's probably been too long since i went to one.

 

They drive to Chicago late Saturday afternoon, bypassing Downtown to save on parking and catching the L back in, grabbing burgers to eat on the way, and finding the right place by the swell of neon lights and the queue curling ‘round the block. 

It’s a small venue, bursting at the seams with people so far removed from Will’s current Mid-America, corn-fed life, and Will takes it all in with a sigh of relief, letting his shoulder go lax and taking off his plaid over-shirt, tying it around his waist to combat the sudden wave of body heat. His neck’s already prickling with sweat, the room a sharp contrast to the Illinois March chill outside, and the warm-up band’s only halfway through their set by the time Will and Paul make it through the door.

They’re not good, but they’re not awful either, and Will’s happy to stand against the wall and listen whilst he waits for Paul to return with their drinks, rolling his eyes at a group of white teenagers dressed to the nines in what looks more like Japanese cosplay than any particular nod to Tokyo Fab.

“Yeah,” Paul says, sliding in next to him and passing him a beer. His fingers are cold from condensation, but his cheeks are flushed from the crowded bar and he’s pushed the sleeves of his henley up, leaving a stretch of forearm on show. He nods at the teenagers posing near the front of the room. “That happens.”

“Are the guys wearing wigs?” Will asks, squinting, and Paul laughs.

“Probably,” he says. “They’re trying to look like Final Fantasy characters or something.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Will says earnestly, and Paul grins, stepping closer as more people press in around them, his hand resting against Will’s shoulder to keep them both together and balanced.

Apart from the kids, most the room look about college age, dressed much the same as Will and Paul, though some of them are rocking a serious amount of eyeliner. Will wonders if he ever went through a phase like that, and snorts into his beer at the idea of a pre-amnesia him walking around _Salem_ with streaks in his hair and his mom’s make-up. 

“What?” Paul asks, lips twitching and eyes curious.

“I was just wondering if I ever pulled off the scene kid look,” Will says. “What d’ya think? Could I rock a smokey eye?”

“You should let Kate try it out on you sometime,” Paul says around a smile, “I bet she’d love it.”

“ _You’d_ look good in eyeliner,” Will says. He means it as a joke, but then he’s picturing it and yeah. 

Yeah.

“Thanks, I think,” Paul says, and squeezes Will’s shoulder as he turns to survey the room, taking a pull of his beer. Will watches the slide of his throat as he swallows and blinks until the room comes back into focus.

There’s a surge of bodies as the support band ends their set, shouting out a dramatic introduction, and the energy in the room sky-rockets. Will can feel Paul tense next to him, spine stretching until he’s at full height, his fingers tapping out a frantic beat through Will’s undershirt. His gaze is fixed on the stage, and Will watches the anticipation flash in his eyes, the slight rise of his heels on the sticky linoleum floor as if it’ll bring him just that little bit closer to where the band are taking their places, and his lungs _hurt_ with how endearing it is.

“Come on,” he says, putting down his beer and bringing his hand up to catch the one on his shoulder, tangling their fingers together. “Let’s get closer.”

Will pushes through the crowd, untruthful apologies on the tip of his tongue as he squeezes between throngs of bodies, never letting go of Paul’s hand. Paul follows behind, sometimes at arm’s length, sometimes pressed against Will’s back and leaving a heated imprint in his place, and then they’re somewhere near the center of the room, in the middle of _everything_ just as Tokyo Fab introduce their first song.

Will’s been listening to their albums non-stop lately, partly out of sheer delight but mostly because it feels like a real connection between him and Paul, something besides the arbitrary and the life-threatening. Something _normal._

None of that prepares him for the first chord pounding between the walls and the scream of the crowd, and he jolts, the music drowning out his surprise until it doesn’t exist. Paul catches his eye, though, and Will thinks he must have seen, and that means he wasn’t looking at the stage, and he squeezes Paul’s hand and doesn’t mind too much when the wave of people pulls them a few inches apart and he has to let go.

It’s _electric_. His ears are ringing and the bass is a deep vibration inside his rib cage, trapping him in the here and now and driving his senses to distraction. His shirt’s sticking to him, and his feet are already sore, and all he can see are shadows and blinding lights and _Paul_.

Paul who’s letting the room move _with_ him, dancing in time with the drums as his lips press out unfamiliar shapes, singing along in a language Will wants so badly to learn if only to press them back into Paul’s skin and feel his surprise. 

Paul looks _alive_ , like he’s finally letting himself feel free, and Will gets to be the one here with him.

The first time he’d seen Paul really smile, his breath had caught in his chest, and all he’d been able to think was ‘ _oh_ ’. Now, seeing Paul like this, it seems impossible to Will that people aren’t tripping over themselves to fall in love with him. 

He’s _beautiful_ , radiating life and light and pure, unadulterated physicality. Will doesn’t remember his time as a writer, but he wants to pen novels about the curve of Paul’s arms, the sway of his hips, the unchained fire in his eyes; it makes his skin feel too tight over his bones, makes him want to laugh and scream and hold on tight, and he thinks it was worth resurrection for this moment of sheer _reality_ alone.

It’s too much and not enough, and Will slides closer and lets Paul’s laughter soak through him.

They play The Fool on the Hill, and Will’s breath catches as Paul’s head tips back, memories playing on a loop behind his closed eyelids, a movie Will wishes he could climb into, live in, and settles instead for slipping his hand back into Paul’s.

He wants to press his lips against the sweat-glistened curve of Paul’s collarbone and kiss his way across his jaw, his cheeks, his mouth, wants to curl his fingers under the waistline of Paul’s jeans and tug him closer still, until there’s nothing except them and the music and the pounding bass-line setting pace with the thumping of their hearts.

It’s addictive, he thinks, the way Paul makes him feel. Young and giddy and so desperately _wanting_ all the time, nothing hidden or faked or unsure. It’s not like the start anymore either, when Paul’s heart was still breaking and Will’s honesty was a weapon. Then Paul had looked at him like a problem to be solved; now when he smiles Will can see the promise in it, the tracks ahead of them getting shorter with every passing joke and secret and minute.

 _You’re worth coming back from the dead for_ , he thinks and then Paul’s eyes are wide and looking straight at him, squeezing his fingers tight, and he realizes he’s said it aloud and, impossibly, the music hasn’t stolen it away. 

They’ve been balanced on the precipice of _something_ for weeks, and he wonders if this is maybe, _finally_ , the moment they tumble over. Paul’s gaze is searching, the thrill of the night still pouring off of him, and Will stays still and _hopes_ —

The next song starts and Will’s pulled back by a crash of bodies, the current putting feet between them and leaving Will flailing, and the moment’s over with Paul’s laugh, delighted and carefree. Will wants to feel cheated, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re both right here, right now, planets in orbit, living for the moment as they wait to fall and fall and _fall_ —

Paul reaches for his hand.

“I’ve got you,” he says, mouth shaping lost sounds.

“I know,” Will says, and holds on tight. “I’ve got you, too.”

The drums pound, the bass thrums, the guitar soars, and the room sings its appreciation, nothing but energy and life and freedom.

 _Music stays with you_ , he thinks, and keeps hoping.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with/prompt me on [tumblr.](http://madroxed.tumblr.com/)


End file.
